Chlorine
by Acanthus Addams
Summary: "The mermaid of Cerulean is one with the water. He can smell it on her clothes, feel it in her hair, taste it on her lips. She wears the scent like a perfume, a fragrance that not even the finest of Celadon City's concoctions could hope to mask. And he can't get enough of it." A standalone sequel to 'Shing'.


DISCLAIMER: I do not own Pokémon.

Although this story carries on immediately from _Shing_, it's not essential to read that first in order to appreciate this one.

This story is dedicated to Rebekah Matthews: an amazing friend and an exceptional writer who, like Misty, is a huge fan of swimming. Check out her stories!

To any of you waiting for the next chapter of _Hidden Power_, I promise I'm still working on it. I just had a few ideas to get out of my system first.

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Chlorine

For her, it's the harrowing _shing_ of the gym's front doors that she notices first. A poignant sound for all the wrong reasons, wreathed in year after year of pain and resentment. It makes her skin crawl – but she's entertained those thoughts more than enough for one lifetime, and her eyes remain fixed on her paperwork.

For him, it's something else entirely. Not a sound nor a sight; not the cool sanctuary of the air-conditioned building from its sweltering surroundings; not the distant warbling of an all-too-familiar duck; not even the unexplainable jolt of his heart when he realises where he is. A smell, plain and simple; of water, of washing-up liquid, of pokémon food…and of chlorine.

He's surprised how well he recalls it. It's a strong aroma, for sure – tangy, cleansing, somewhat artificial, and leaves a slightly bitter taste in the mouth – though not an unpleasant one at all. For it's a scent steeped in nostalgia, of times in his life most cherished, and each lungful feels like a flick through the dusty pages of an old, forgotten scrapbook. At the beginning of his journey, he'd never have to look far to catch a whiff of it; always there and yet always unnoticed, a mere insignificant background detail to the one-track-minded young boy he was. Only on the day it was ripped away from him did he realise it had ever been there at all.

"Excuse me, Miss, but do you know where I might find a loud-mouthed redhead named Misty?"

He hopes his trademark touch of sarcasm is all the introduction they need. Breathlessness takes him soon after, confirming to him that the quip is but a veil to cover up an uncharacteristic anxiety. It has, after all, been almost a year since they've spoken.

When their eyes meet, however, he knows his doubts are for naught, and all at once they're tight in each other's arms, holding on as if for dear life. Two best friends, separated for aeons at a time by the cruel hand of fate, but as close as two people could possibly be, and no amount of time or distance will ever change that.

She leads him to the pool, a place he has not been since his childhood. Down to the last detail, it's precisely as he remembers it, from the high diving board to the charming old pokémon murals on the walls. He looks back at her smiling face, a face he has endured months without seeing, and a sudden sickness brews from inside him. Is it the heat? Something he ate on the ferry here, perhaps? Or maybe, just maybe, it's the way the reflections of the water flit across her skin, like baby dratini gliding upstream in the springtime. The way her eyes sparkle like freshly cut emeralds. The rising intensity of the chlorine he remembers so fondly. The space between them steadily creaks narrower, like two magnets caught in each other's fields. He doesn't know what comes over him, but he doesn't overthink it. All he knows is that this feels right – and that's all he cares to know.

The mermaid of Cerulean is one with the water. He can smell it on her clothes, feel it in her hair, taste it on her lips. She wears the scent like a perfume, a fragrance that not even the finest of Celadon City's concoctions could hope to mask. And he can't get enough of it.

No words are spoken in the midst of their passion. To try and condense years of pent-up emotion and secret yearning into a few paltry sentences is an impossible task, and they have both waited too long for this moment. Their thoughts are of each other, and each other only, so what else need be said? What are hours to the outside world are but seconds to them, for all the two lovestruck friends can do is close their eyes and smile softly into their silent embrace. If this is a dream, which they half convince themselves it is, then it's a dream that neither one of them will be in any hurry to wake up from.

"What made you want to tell me now?" she whispers sleepily into his collar. He stares in puzzlement for a moment before the meaning of the question truly sinks in. Indeed, without uttering a syllable he has said more in these five minutes than he has in all the time they have known each other. Even so, her words stump him. He hadn't wanted to tell her, had no intention of doing so. Until that moment, there was nothing to tell! And yet, there was, as there has always been. He has to wonder why it's taken until now for him to see, what it was that finally caused the well to run over. It's then that the soothing chlorinous vapours fill his nostrils once again, and he smiles in understanding. The scent is synonymous with the woman he loves, an airborne serenade of the sweetest variety. It almost makes him feel rather intoxicated – perhaps that would explain the permanently addled Psyduck, he muses whimsically.

They squeeze every second they can out of those precious two days. The word itself goes yet unsaid, but their actions more than express the pure, earnest love they feel, and that is enough for now. Of course, it's not long until fate intervenes like clockwork to wrest them apart. The open road calls to him, forever beckoning like a thirst he can't quench. She knows the feeling all too well, and though her place is at the gym now, who is she to deny him his destiny? There is no sadness in their parting, for what has always been the truth is now more relevant than ever: that no matter where life takes them, they will always find their way back to each other.

However, that which is true in theory is not always so in practice, and eventually the cracks in their shared mantra begin to show. They try to fight it as best they can, but anyone can see that they miss each other fiercely, as such strong feelings can only be contained so much. Her gym leader duties mostly keep her from wallowing in her loneliness, something she's grateful for immensely. Mornings and nights are the worst, inevitably, but she won't let it beat her. The water is her saviour, and in the safety of the swimming pool is where she can let everything pour out.

A natural born swimmer, a water pokémon in all but name. She slices through the liquid like a knife through butter, her famed defences lowered and her mind completely at ease. Here she is free to purge herself of her pain, to shed off her sadness like a cloak, as the gentle chlorine washes everything away. In the pool, she is weightless, ethereal, unburdened. Whenever she misses him, she can always come here, and soon thoughts of the two become virtually indistinguishable. The warmth of the water is a comfort like no other; its velvety hold envelopes her, a short-lived surrogate for the hug she so desperately needs.

He, meanwhile, misses her every day. That much has always been the case, as he'd occasionally let slip to his travelling companions in troubling times. But now they're more than friends, so much more, and every minute spent away from her feels like an age. Pokémon have been his greatest passion for as long as he can remember. He never thought he'd one day have to share that special sanctum in his mind with something just as interesting, just as exhilarating, just as beautiful – and he wouldn't change a thing.

There is no shortage of water on his travels. Puddles, streams, canals, rivers, oceans; he sees them all, and every time he can't help but think of her. How he wishes she could be there with him, to bask in its mesmerising natural purity right by his side. He can picture her beaming face as clear as day, imagine her laughter with such precision that it sends a shiver down his spine. And yet, it's the aspect of her he loves the most that he finds the hardest to remember. That heady chlorine, the scent of the Cerulean gym, now as much a part of her as it is the water she so embodies. No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many diversions he takes to stay by the water's edge, the alluring aroma is all but lost to him, and nothing around him makes any difference. It's almost as if the very purity of these rivers and lakes does her a disservice; for she's not perfect, nor will she ever be. But where would be the fun if she were?

This is the longest time they've ever been apart. Letters go back and forth as often as possible, but it's not the same – how could it be? He's on his way to the Unova League when all contact from her stops; abruptly, and without warning. Only when he gets to the next town does he find out why, and it's worse than he could ever have imagined. He doesn't know the exact details, for in the shock he can't think straight enough to ask. All he knows is that he needs to get home right now.

It's a coma, the doctors tell him one cramped last-minute flight later. His thoughts are a blur, but amongst the haze he gleans that she was injured trying to protect a pokémon from a vicious unprovoked attack in Rifure Village. The situation, albeit tragic, sums her up beautifully: selfless, compassionate, willing to brave all kinds of danger to prevent another from coming to harm. In a rickety old bed of Cerulean City General Hospital is where he finds her, her flaming red hair in brilliant contrast to the blinding white of the ward in which she lays.

The sight cracks his heart into splinters. His best friend, his soulmate…his Misty. He knows she's far from alright, and still she looks so peaceful, so unfazed by the world around her. Cradling her limp body in his arms, he notices with horror that the once embedded hint of chlorine in her skin is nowhere to be found, no doubt scrubbed clean out of existence by the ward's overzealous chansey. This isn't right…none of this is right. There's nothing he can do for her at this time; he feels so powerless, so in the way. But he just can't bring himself to leave her side.

Every day he visits her for as long as the staff will let him. A week passes by with no change, but he won't stop coming. For the first time in his life, his pokémon journey is the furthest thing from his mind. One cloudy day, while on his way to the hospital, he decides to take a different route for a change, a route that ends up taking him past the gym. He stops when he reaches the front gate; the brightly coloured building has hosted so many important milestones in his journey, most as far back as eight years ago. A leap of his heart carries him lazily forward, and he doesn't realise he's reached the foyer until a harsh _shing_ snaps him back to reality. It doesn't look right without her here. It feels…naked, unfinished somehow. He's about to leave when a faint trace of familiarity in the air wafts over to him, and suddenly he can't resist turning around and immersing himself in its scintillating source.

The pool is still, untouched for days, and the ripples he makes when he lowers himself down glitter almost with gratitude in the spotlights. He drinks in the aroma he has missed so much, allowing it to wash over him as he cuts across the silky water. Every stroke he makes conjures a new image in his head, a memory previously tucked away that the purgative chlorine flushes to the surface: their first battle together, the dance they shared at Maiden's Peak, their heartfelt goodbye after the Silver Conference, all the way up to their first kiss. The fighting is in there, too, he's happy to see, as he hasn't considered that a bad thing for a long time. Now he sees only the good, for each and every moment spent with her over his lifetime is an experience he wouldn't trade for anything. All he wants is to have her back.

The hospital ward is as uninviting as ever when he arrives, and as usual, he barely notices. His eyes are only for her, everything else be damned. He takes his regular spot at the head of her bed, staring forward, just begging for those soft, papery eyelids to fly open. But still she just lies there, and he can't take it anymore. He wraps his arms around her neck and holds her as close as he can, feeling the salty sting of tears the minute his slightly damp hair brushes her forehead. Never in his life has he felt so lost, so incomplete. It's not fair. It should have been him. And so he does the only thing he can do – he makes a promise, praying that, wherever she is, she can still hear his voice.

…

…

A stir...

…

A twitch…

…

From deepest black, her eyes detect a light. The blurriest thing, wispy and frayed, but her first sensation in what feels like a lifetime. Suddenly, it's closer, and she's not sure whether she or it is the one that has moved. As the distance shrinks away, she sees that it's not a light at all, but a kind of luminous fog, hanging eerily in the nothingness around her. It engulfs her like a net, and in its clutches she is overwhelmed by a swift searing brightness, followed by the most unexpected of odours:

Chlorine.

"Ash?"

Never before has a sound simultaneously delighted and terrified him so. He springs away from her, bloodshot eyes as wide as pokéballs. For what seems like hours, neither seems to know where they are. Words become alien to them, and all they can do is stare silently with mouths agape. In the stillness, shock turns to disbelief, disbelief turns to confusion, confusion turns to understanding…and it all ends with a smirk.

"Don't ever go swimming in my pool without my permission again, Ketchum."

Tears fall a second time, but contain not an ounce of unhappiness. A whoosh of air and fabric brings the two crashing back into a passionate embrace, a union the likes of which words could scarcely dare to summarise. That doesn't stop him trying, though – after all, he did promise her.

"I love you, Mist."

After all they've been through together, it should have been superfluous. Instead, it's the most beautiful sound she's ever heard. He kisses her with everything he has to give, his warm heart pumping at a mile a minute. With his face in such close proximity to hers, he inhales tenderly, hoping on the off-chance that some of her signature chlorine scent has survived the chansey's handiwork. And sure enough, he finds it, like he knew he would – for nothing can ever truly eradicate something so deeply ingrained. Then again, he's covered in the stuff himself; could it just be him? When he thinks about it, though, it doesn't even matter. They are no longer two beings, but one, bonded by friendship, love, companionship, and a certain unspoken phenomenon, trivial and odd to everyone else but forever wordlessly invaluable to them. Logic rarely plays a part in love, all things considered…and what is chemistry without a chemical or two?


End file.
